Truest of Friends: Greatest of Bonds
by Fan of the Just King
Summary: After an argument concerning the last case, realizations are made and a strong bond is forged. NOT slash, takes place immediately after 'Murder of Innocence' - may contain some spoilers, mainly H/C fic, maybe slightly angsty.
1. Chapter 1: Broken Realisation

Author's Note: Well, hello again all! I hope you haven't missed me too much…uh, we might leave that unanswered shall we? This was a little idea that started the first time I watched 'Murder of Innocence', and was one person who really wanted to see a bit more, so I wrote this fic. At this point, the first few chapters have been written, and looking for it to be about three or four chapters long. It is also my little peace offering for all those who are waiting for my other two stories to be updated, and for that I do apologise, I promise I am working on them! But this one just wouldn't leave me alone, so, without further ado, I present _Truest of Friends: Greatest of Bonds_.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything out of this story, except the original plot line. Characters and other recognisable plots/places etc. all belong to their respective owners. If you see any material that resembles another fic, I apologise in advance. Any resemblance is coincidental and unintentional.

Chapter One: Broken Realisation

I leaned my aching head back against the wall in my now silent hallway after the front door slammed with shuddering finality; the last remnants of my recent argument with the DCI still vibrating in the throbbing edges of my brain.

Groaning, I pushed myself away from the wall and staggered down the passageway and out into my tiny garden. For the first time, I thanked my older sister, Marion, for talking me into choosing a house with no neighbours; but at the same time, it felt incredibly lonely.

I placed my pounding head into my hands and sat on the garden bench, my shoulders shook and I felt my eyes burn. It always hurt when I argued with anyone, and I've always taken what people say to heart. I can still remember one particularly bad row I had with my father when I was eighteen; it left me feeling nearly as bad as I felt now. This, though, this really hurt (and not just in the physical sense either).

Swallowing past the enlarging knot in my throat, I stood automatically and walked back inside to the living room cabinet, and, grabbing my guitar, walked back out into the garden. Whenever I was upset – especially after a row – I would just sit and play or listen to music.

As my fingers began to strum familiar cords, I felt a new knot form in my throat as I began to sing softly.

"_We signed our cards and letters BFF_

_You've got a million ways to make me laugh."_

Well that wasn't true…Barnaby and I certainly weren't the best of friends; we never had been, and it was often me that made him laugh, not the other way around.

"_You're looking out for me; you've got my back_

_It's so good to have you around."_

I couldn't deny that that was true; he'd spent most of the last case trying to protect me – not that it did much good. Although, I mused, that was my fault, not the Inspector's.

"_You know the secrets I could never tell_

_And when I'm quiet you break through my shell_

_Don't feel the need to do a rebel yell_

_Cause you keep my feet on the ground."_

That was true enough; he did seem to have that ability to somehow read and understand what I was thinking and feeling and he did seem to be able to bring me back to earth whenever my flights of fantasy got too fantastical; which, I reflected with a small smile, seemed to happen quite often.

"_You're a true friend_

_You're here till the end_

_You pull me aside when something ain't right_

_Talk with me now and into the night_

_Till it's alright again_

_You're a true friend."_

"_You don't get angry when I change the plan_

_Somehow you're never out of second chances."_

Yes, but not that it does much good when I decide to be an absolute git.

"_Won't say 'I told you' when I'm wrong, again_

_I'm so lucky that I've found_

_A true friend_

_You're here till the end_

_You pull me aside when something ain't right_

_Talk with me now and into the night_

_Till it's alright again."_

"_True friends will go to the ends of the earth_

_Till they find the things you need_

_Friends hang on through the ups and the downs_

_Cause they've got someone to believe in."_

Does he? Would he really go that far?

"_A true friend_

_You're here till the end_

_You pull me aside when something ain't right_

_Talk with me now and into the night_

_No need to pretend"_

"_True friend_

_You're here till the end_

_You pull me aside when something ain't right_

_Talk with me now and into the night_

_Till it's alright again_

_You're a true friend."_

I felt my voice start to get softer and more strained and this time, I felt no embarrassment as I let the tears fall, splashing onto the shining wood of my guitar.

"_You're a true friend."_

At that point, I nearly whispered the last words, and I had to stop playing. Setting the guitar softly onto the ground at my feet, I slid off the bench and wrapped my arms around my knees, biting my lip against the cry that threatened to leave my throat. In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't be crying over something like this but, well, this song – once played at my niece's 6th birthday – has suddenly found a whole new significance for me. It fits John Barnaby so well; he really is the strong leader and exactly what the song says: a true friend.

And he's the one who has to put up with me, and I'm not – nor ever could be – either of those things. More tears fell at this realisation: the desire to cry out becoming stronger by the second.

So of course, imagine my shock when I heard a soft, familiar voice whisper my name tentatively just over my shoulder.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2: Releasing the Frustration

Author's Note: This one, so far, is coming along really well. I hope to have Chapter 3 out sometime tomorrow. Not much to say here, only that this chapter was a slight pain to write; getting inside John Barnaby's head is much harder than getting inside Jones' head (and that's saying something).

Reviews: Thanks for the reviews; they really are what keep my muse healthy and well fed.

**Guest:** That's a shame that you don't have the newer episodes; they're really good. Thanks so much for your review! It makes me feel like my first venture into _Midsomer_ is going to be a successful one. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything out of this story, except the original plot line. Characters and other recognisable plots/places etc. all belong to their respective owners. If you see any material that resembles another fic, I apologise in advance. Any resemblance is coincidental and unintentional.

Chapter Two: Releasing the Frustration

Fuming, I slammed the door to Jones' house and strode angrily out to my waiting Volvo. Throwing myself into the driver's seat, I rubbed my eyes like I usually do when I'm frustrated. Of course, in this instance, I was so infuriated I couldn't even properly remember what it was that we were arguing about: silly huh?

I suppose most of this anger is born out of the sheer worry and terror from two nights ago. I shuddered as I remembered the red glare of the powerhouse, the similar fiery glare of the man who had held the two electrical wires, the frightened – if groggy – glances belonging to Ben, my own fear that we were all going to be burned alive.

After inspecting his head injury, I had insisted that he go to the hospital to clean it up. Of course, Jones being Jones, had protested, albeit wearily, and had ended up spending the night inside the hospital's white-washed walls (not off his own bat, I reckoned).

So he'd only come home yesterday afternoon, and when I'd arrived about half an hour ago, our oddly tense conversation had turned into a full blown argument (screaming match, I corrected myself sadly); something which can't have been good for the concussion I knew Ben was nursing. But at that instant, I couldn't have cared less: it was mostly his fault anyway, wasn't it?

As soon as I had thought this, I felt ashamed and angry at myself; Ben hadn't asked for this, he certainly hadn't asked to have been involved so personally with that last case, and here I was, blaming him for my own stupidity.

Decision made, I opened the door once again, and walked up the slightly overgrown garden path to his front door, and I was just about to knock when I heard the quiet strums of guitar strings coming from the back garden. Sidestepping a few pot plants, I walked slowly around the side of the house, just in time to catch a soft voice weaving its way towards my ears.

I couldn't help but smile; Tom and Joyce had told me that Jones had a superb voice, and now I could hear it for myself: boy, you could never say the lad couldn't sing.

'You're looking out for me?' I guess so; I mean, I did go after him that night, but it's not like I dive into every hard place whenever a colleague is in trouble; they do have to be able to look after themselves sometimes.

'Never out of second chances?' Well, I suppose that's accurate enough, but Tom was always the more forgiving policeman, not me. He never let his emotions sway him in anything; that's something I really need to work on.

'A true friend?' No Ben, if I really was a true friend, I would never have blamed you for what happened the other night, I wouldn't have given reason for that argument.

I craned my neck closer to the edge of the wall as I heard the last words of the song die away. What I heard next caught me completely by surprise: is he _crying_?

Swallowing hard, I stepped out quietly around the corner of the house and out into the garden, and bent down closer to his shaking shoulders as I whispered his name tentatively.


End file.
